


His Holy God Damned Mouth

by Leslie_Knope



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12190755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: Ronan is having trouble sleeping, and Adam…has an idea.





	His Holy God Damned Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [this lovely poem](http://alonesomes.tumblr.com/post/120402288586/i-am-thinking-about-the-crescent-scar-on-the).

The hardwood floors in the main house at the Barns were old and appropriately creaky, and from his bedroom, Ronan could track Adam’s path through the house. Closed the front door, detoured into the kitchen—probably for a glass of water—walked up the stairs, stopped at the bathroom just off the landing.

When Adam came into the bedroom, Ronan didn’t bother opening his eyes from where he was sprawled out on his stomach on the bed. Adam’s breath smelled like toothpaste when he ducked down and kissed the shell of Ronan’s ear.

“All good?” Ronan said, mostly into the pillow.

“Yeah. She wanted to say good night to the cows.”

Ronan smiled, in spite of himself. Opal was newly obsessed with FaceTime, or whatever bastardized version existed on the iPhone-like device that Ronan had dreamed up for Adam.

“Did you yell at the terrible trio for letting her stay up so late?”

“Of course I did. She seemed pretty hopped up on sugar, too.”

Ronan snorted. Opal was spending the night at Monmouth with Blue and Gansey and Henry, who were about to head off on their trip and wanted to spend some time with her before they left. Adam and Ronan were not invited to the sleepover, which was more than fine with him.

“Sleepy?” Adam asked, and Ronan rolled his eyes, even though Adam couldn’t see.

“Fuck no.”

Adam made a little huffing noise and turned off the overhead light before climbing into his side of the bed. He had a _side of the bed_ , and sometimes Ronan still couldn’t really believe it.

It had been a few months since…well, _since_. Since everything. Since the events that would bisect his life, just like his dad’s death had. Before everything versus after everything.

It had been a few months _since_ , but Ronan still wasn’t reliably sleeping. That wasn’t anything unusual, not really, but it had gotten even worse. The nightmares were atrocious, these horrifying, life-like things that often left him panting up at the ceiling in the wee hours of the morning, soaked through with sweat. And even when he managed to fall asleep, even when he managed to _stay_ asleep through the nightmares, he always woke up exhausted and cranky, as though his mind had been through a workout and dragged his body along for the ride.

He hadn’t let himself sleep in the same bed as Adam until he proved to himself that he wouldn’t be bringing things back. And then when he finally did, he learned that while he loved sleeping in the same bed as Adam—like a _lot_ , like more than he was willing to readily admit—it wasn’t enough to solve his sleeping woes.

And admittedly, he was often an asshole about it.

On one particularly rough night, Adam had even snapped that Ronan was worse than _Opal_ , whose enthusiastic and increasingly-creative attempts to avoid bedtime were already the stuff of legends. Ronan had been forced to hold Adam down and tickle him until he took it back.

Ronan smiled into the pillow at the memory.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Adam said casually, and Ronan’s eyes flew open.

 _I’ve been thinking_ meant exactly that whenever it came out of the mouth of anyone except for Adam Parrish. When Adam Parrish said _I’ve been thinking_ , what he really meant was _I’ve been_ over _-thinking and researching and this is actually very important and premeditated_.

Ronan cleared his throat and braced himself up on his elbow so he could see Adam. He was sitting against the low headboard with his legs crossed at the ankle, wearing a plain white undershirt and a pair of Ronan’s briefs. “Yeah?”

“About you sleeping,” he clarified. “Or, well—not sleeping.”

“And your point is?”

Adam didn’t specify, though, he just bent down and pressed their lips together. Ronan leaned up into it because he wasn’t an idiot, and he would always, always kiss Adam Parrish whenever he initiated it. The kiss intensified almost immediately, and Ronan realized that instead of delaying his answer, maybe the kiss _was_ Adam’s answer.

Ronan’s neck was craned at an uncomfortable angle, so he twisted onto his back without breaking the kiss and pulled Adam down across his chest. Ronan wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Adam’s hand spread possessively over the curve of his ribs at the same time as his mouth drifted down, pressing kisses to the line of his jaw and across to his neck.

“Do you trust me?” Adam asked, the words quiet and almost buried into the hollow of Ronan’s throat. Ronan swallowed, and Adam’s lips followed the movement.

“Obviously,” he drawled, knowing that Adam would hear it for the _I love you_ that it was.

Adam replied with another kiss, one that was searing and deep and left Ronan clutching at his back, underneath his shirt. “Take it off,” he said grumpily, tugging at it, and Adam quirked an eyebrow at him before kneeling up and yanking the shirt over his head. He stripped Ronan’s briefs off, too, making him shiver under the lazy whir of the ceiling fan.

Adam immediately covered Ronan’s body with his own, kissing him again. Ronan threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of Adam’s head, holding him there just in case he had any ideas about moving. He could kiss Adam for fucking hours, he swore. Adam kissed with his whole body, curling into him, and each kiss was somehow different and yet familiar. Ronan had given up on trying to explain it.

But as nice as the kissing was, the hard line of Adam’s dick against his own was impossible to ignore, and eventually Ronan’s hips jerked up, of their own volition. Adam smiled into the kiss, his thumb tracing the edges of the tattoo on Ronan’s neck. Ronan half-expected a comment— _eager much?_ , maybe—but instead, Adam promptly slipped down his body and sucked him down with exactly zero mercy.

Ronan groaned, loud, and fisted his hands in the sheets. “Fuck. Jesus.”

They’d had a lot of practice at this over the past few months, and unsurprisingly, Adam had taken to it as well as he did practically everything else. He wasn’t holding anything back tonight, either, which wasn’t helping Ronan, who was already pretty close just from the kissing. One of Adam’s hands was braced on the bed for balance, the other jacking him quickly while he tongued at the head, just like he’d figured out that Ronan liked.

“I’m gonna come,” he admitted, but Adam sped up instead of pulling off. Ronan groaned, half in pleasure and half not, and otherwise kept his mouth shut. He really didn’t want this to be over so quickly, if he had his way, but even he wasn’t in the habit of complaining when his dick was in Adam’s mouth.

“Adam,” he warned again, louder this time, complete with a sharp tug to his hair. Adam made an irritated noise, and embarrassingly enough, that’s what sent Ronan over the edge. He arched up with a gasp and groaned when Adam pressed his hips back down onto the bed, the muscles in his shoulders standing out in relief. “Fuck, holy shit.”

Adam coughed once and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before leaning back up over Ronan’s body, kissing him again and stealing what little breath that he had left. His mouth was scorching, and Ronan sank into it greedily—Adam’s kisses were far more of a priority than oxygen.

The kisses eventually slowed, until they were panting into them rather than devouring each other, and Ronan just barely managed to stop himself from blurting out, “that’s it?” Because while Adam’s blow jobs were in no way, shape, or form a _that’s it?_ type of situation, he had gotten the impression that something different was on the table for tonight. They had already tried orgasms before bed, and while Ronan would never, ever turn that down, it hadn’t magically fixed his sleeping problems, either.

Adam was still hard, Ronan could clearly feel against his thigh, but when he reached for it, Adam intercepted his hand and tangled their fingers together instead. “Roll over,” he said, complete with a jerk of his chin.

Ronan lifted his eyebrows but obeyed, pillowing his cheek on his folded arms as Adam straddled him, his dick warm and heavy where it rested against Ronan’s ass. Ronan resisted the temptation to move. Adam was running the show tonight, it seemed, and Adam was nothing if not always prepared with a plan.

He didn’t leave Ronan hanging in suspense and immediately started tracing his tattoo. That, at least, was familiar. Adam liked to touch it all the time, any moment he was within arm’s reach. Even when other people were around, it turned out, at which point Ronan had to begrudgingly admit that it _did_ things to him and therefore Adam probably shouldn’t do it in public anymore, lest he start something that he wasn’t willing to finish. Adam still did it, though, no matter who was around, because he was an asshole.

But these were gentle touches, meant to soothe rather than arouse, for once. The only light on in the room was a dream light in the corner, one that emitted an impossibly warm, dappled light, and Ronan slowly relaxed into the bed, until he was almost boneless. He could very possibly fall asleep like this, unwound by orgasm and lulled into unconsciousness by Adam’s insanely capable hands.

Then Adam’s finger traced _down_ , between his cheeks, and Ronan froze.

Adam’s finger stilled but didn’t retreat, and Ronan forced himself to relax. He exhaled and pressed his palms against the bed.

“Is this—”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, probably too eager by half. But _yes_ , Jesus Christ, _yes_ to anything and everything. He was certainly awake now, shit.

“Yeah, what?”

“ _Yes_ , fuck. Yes to whatever you want.”

“That’s not exactly what this is about.”

Ronan stubbornly stayed silent, even though his hips canted up, traitorously. Adam’s left hand spread across his ass, reassuring, but other hand disappeared. Ronan cursed into the pillow—were they actually going to have to _talk_ about this, fucking shit—but after just a second, Adam’s finger came back, slick this time.

Ronan gave half a thought to the lube—did Adam come _prepared_? did he rummage through Ronan’s drawers?—before realizing that there were far more interesting things to focus on. Fuck, he was getting hard again. It was maddeningly slow, and almost mesmerizing, the way Adam’s finger just traced around him, not going anywhere interesting. The anticipation was killing him, and Ronan shifted his weight, ready to flip over and take a little initiative to get this whole thing going in the direction that he wanted.

But Adam immediately sensed what he was doing and held him down with his dry hand in the middle of Ronan’s back. As always, his sheer strength was somehow both surprising and not. “Just—just let me.”

Ronan grunted, just to appropriately express his displeasure, and Adam responded with one finger, all the way to the second knuckle—as a reward or punishment, Ronan couldn’t tell. He gasped nonetheless, more in surprise than anything, and spread his legs a little wider.

One finger was easy. Ronan’s _thing_ for Adam’s hands wasn’t exactly a secret, and they’d done this before, a few times. Never more, though, but Ronan was getting the impression that might be changing tonight.

Adam moved to two fingers pretty quickly but then slowed down, getting almost lazy about it, if _lazy_ was ever a word that could be applied to Adam Parrish. _Thorough_ was a better descriptor, probably, and also _slow_ , slow enough to drive Ronan to the brink of madness. He kept adding more lube, and the constant, slick stretch was burning Ronan up from the inside.

Then Adam went back to one finger, for some godforsaken reason, and Ronan groaned, resisting the urge to tear the pillow that he had clutched between his hands. He was hard now, remarkably so, pressed against the mattress without any leverage to do anything fun with it. “Fuck, will you just—”

“Just what?” Adam asked, sounding about a thousand times calmer than Ronan was. His hand was giving him away, though, gripped tight around Ronan’s hip, nearly hard enough to bruise.

“Just get on with it, Jesus, Parrish.”

Adam hummed, a little low noise in the back of his throat, and pulled out. _Finally_. Ronan shifted, but Adam’s hand tightened on his hip in warning and then there were _three_ fingers, fuck. “Nah,” he drawled.

Ronan wanted to roll his eyes—that was Adam’s fake casual voice, he could totally tell—but three fingers was enough of a stretch that he had to concentrate, had to breathe. He had no idea if it was too much or not enough, but he bucked back anyway, against Adam’s hand, his hips moving without any conscious instruction from his brain.

“Fuck,” Adam hissed. Ronan thought he did, at least, his voice was a little more strangled than usual.

Adam’s fingers withdrew, and a little whine from Ronan slipped out right alongside them. He was balancing on the edge now, and felt weird, kind of empty and flayed open. He tried to breathe.

Ronan’s eyes were still closed, but he could hear and feel as Adam leaned over him, one hand on his shoulder blade, and rummaged in the drawer of the nightstand. Ronan had stashed a box of condoms in there a while ago, just in case, which Adam was evidently aware of.

His dry hand tugged at Ronan’s hip. “Up.”

Ronan blew out a breath before bracing his hands underneath his shoulders and pressing himself up onto his knees. This take-charge Adam needed to become a thing. _More_ of a thing, anyway.

Adam rearranged him, spreading his knees a little wider before slotting in behind him. Adam had clearly _thought_ about this, had come prepared with a plan, and Ronan had to suppress a shudder at the thought.

Adam didn’t ask if he was _ready_ , which Ronan appreciated. But his hand trailed along his side until it found Ronan’s, tangling their fingers together with a squeeze, and he didn’t move until Ronan squeezed back.

The first press felt like it lasted forever, more overwhelming than anything. Ronan’s free hand was clenched around the top of the low headboard, his knuckles turning white, and he had to remind himself, _again_ , to breathe.

Once he was about halfway in, Adam stopped, his hand trembling a little where it was still clutched in Ronan’s. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, the words muffled against the top of Ronan’s spine. “Ronan, god.”

Adam didn’t swear nearly enough for Ronan’s tastes, and that alone might have made this whole thing worth it.

But it also felt good. Like, _really_ good. It hurt a little, kind of, but that certainly didn’t make it feel any less good.

Adam swallowed audibly, panting, and nosed along a curved talon on Ronan’s neck. “Are you—”

Ronan didn’t let him finish, just shoved his hips back and took Adam in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” Adam breathed. His teeth were on Ronan’s shoulder now, the rushes of hot, damp air from his mouth making Ronan shiver. “Just, just stay still for a sec, fuck.”

Ronan could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears, and he bit viciously at his own lip. The adrenaline was building under his skin, quick and eager, as ready to be called upon as the BMW’s engine, exactly how he felt when the light was about to turn green, his hand coaxing the gear shift.

He moved in the small space that he had, just shifting back and forth, and panted with how good it felt, just that little bit. “Fuck, what’re you waiting for.”

Adam’s weight shoved him against the headboard, holding him there, and Ronan caught himself against the wall. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna fuckin’ come, just hold on.”

His accent was thick right in Ronan’s ear, and embarrassingly, he shivered. But finally, fucking _finally_ , Adam started moving, careful and deliberate. Each thrust lit Ronan up from the inside, enough so that he wouldn’t be surprised if sparks started shooting from his fingertips.

His dick was achingly hard, and he immediately dropped one hand from the headboard. But he’d barely gotten half a dozen strokes in before Adam’s fingers circled Ronan’s wrist, his grip gentle but steady, and tugged his hand away. Ronan wondered if he could come like this, _just_ from this, and the thought got caught in his throat, choking him.

“Faster, fuck.” Ronan tried to make it sound like a growl, but he suspected that it came out more like a whine.

Adam ignored him, predictably, and continued with his own pace, deep and slow and devastating. It would be awkward to kiss from this angle, but such an ordinary thing wouldn’t stop Ronan. He turned his head and Adam understood him immediately, leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

His hips stilled, flush against Ronan’s ass, and his hand released Ronan’s so that he could curl his arm around his chest instead, holding him even closer. The kiss was sloppy, heavier on passion and need than technique, and Ronan felt it straight down to his dick. He bit Adam’s lip, and Adam groaned, his nails scratching against Ronan’s chest.

Adam pulled back and _finally_ started moving faster, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back in, and Ronan was about to shake out of his own skin. “Adam, Adam, Adam,” he chanted, accidentally in time with his thrusts, his hands clutching uselessly at the wall. “Motherfucking—”

Adam cried out, a sharp, soft noise that was mostly buried behind Ronan’s ear, and then stilled again, slumping heavily against Ronan’s back. The quick staccato of his heartbeat burned its pattern into Ronan’s tattoo, and he relished every thump.

Adam pulled out after a minute, a long, weird movement that made Ronan shiver all the way down to his toes. He sucked in breaths, trying to readjust his entire world view, and looked mournfully down at his own dick, hard enough that it almost hurt.

But Adam was there again to move him, pulling him a little farther away from the wall and pushing his knees apart. And then he was ducking, turning, and moving between Ronan’s legs, bracing his shoulders and his back against the headboard.

His mouth around Ronan was warm and slow, his eyes fluttering shut in what looked like a mixture of exhaustion, bliss, and satisfaction. Ronan kept one hand braced on the wall and dropped the other to Adam’s hair, gently twining the dusty strands through his fingers. “I’m—”

Adam made a reassuring noise and let one hand drift from Ronan’s hip down between his thighs. Two fingers suddenly pressed in and _up_ , holding there, and Ronan almost cried as he finally came. It was different than the first one, not so much bright and sharp as unrelenting and languid and completely, utterly overwhelming. It lasted forever, big pulses tapering off into little shudders, and Ronan could feel his heartbeat in his _throat_ , Jesus Christ.

Adam sucked him down one more time, torturously good on his tender skin, and Ronan _did_ cry, one little choked-off sob that he’d surely be embarrassed by if he had any mental faculties left.

Once every drop was gone, Adam disappeared from between Ronan’s legs, and Ronan could feel the bed shift as he moved off of it. When he came back—after two minutes or two hours, he had no fucking idea—Ronan was still in the same position, still trying to catch his breath on his knees, with his elbows braced on top of the headboard and his forehead against his clasped hands.

Adam slotted in behind him again, announcing himself with a gentle hand on Ronan’s side. There was a damp and pleasantly-warm washcloth wiping gently over his groin, and Ronan straddled the familiar knife edge of pleasure and pain as it brushed against his hopelessly over-sensitized skin.

The washcloth landed with a _splat_ on the ground, by the door, and Adam took hold of him around the waist. Adam, with his big, strong hands, maneuvered him down off his knees and onto his back, his head on a pillow. Ronan’s limbs were leaden now, practically adhered to the soft sheets, and he vaguely registered Adam lying down next to him and pulling the sheet over their bodies.

“You good?” Adam said softly, but there was no way in hell Ronan could manage anything as complicated as _words_ right now. He just murmured instead and turned his face into whatever part of Adam’s skin was closest. His shoulder, Ronan thought. Whatever. “I love you,” Adam whispered, just like he did every night, and Ronan used the very last vestiges of his conscious thought to say it back.

* * *

The light was _blinding_ when Ronan opened his eyes, and he immediately closed them again. He tried again, squinting this time into the light that was slanting through the shades at a much higher angle than he was used to.

He also felt a lot lighter than he was used to, his mind clear of any nightmare remnants. He still felt tired, somehow, but it was a cleaner, more productive kind of tired, the type of drowsy you felt after a satisfying night of sleep. Save for the literal pain in his ass, Ronan felt like a brand-new person.

His eyes drifted across the room and landed on Adam, in the armchair in the corner. He was curled up in a patch of sunlight like a cat, with a book braced against his thighs.

“Good morning,” Adam said, without looking up. He flipped a page. “Afternoon, actually. Sleep well?”

Ronan summoned the extent of his energy, which wasn’t much, and reached for the nearest object on the nightstand. It was the box of condoms, fucking fantastic.

He threw it at Adam anyway.

“Ow!” he yelped, surely more in surprise than anything, when it hit his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“Don’t look so fucking _smug_ , you shithead,” Ronan said, knowing that Adam would hear it for the _thank you_ that it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ♥
> 
> I'm [leslieknopeismyshiningstar](http://leslieknopeismyshiningstar.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
